


Hands On

by PFLAgentYork (Legendaerie)



Series: RP-verse [1]
Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cunnilingus, Established Relationship, F/M, Massage, Oral Sex, Porn with Feelings, Post-Mission, Vaginal Sex, you know exactly what this is and what you're here for
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-06
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-11-09 19:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11111310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Legendaerie/pseuds/PFLAgentYork
Summary: It's the least he can do for Carolina, after all she does for the team. York just wishes he could give her more.





	Hands On

**Author's Note:**

  * For [IMAgentMI](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IMAgentMI/gifts).



> woke up really early, and really sad, and kind of thirsty so i'm editing and posting this early. spawned from the canon-divergent RP - my account can be found [here](https://pflagentyork.tumblr.com/) \- that i have with a collection of people. Gifted to Amy, my friend and our Carolina.

Missions seldom come in easily handled doses, but York is exhausted after two consecutive jobs.First, an emergency hostage rescue with North, where he’d narrowly survived a knife fight with a deep gash meant to slit his throat. And the second, with a larger team including South and Carolina, had left them in a predator-haunted searing wasteland to gather intel for days.

He’s back on the MOI now, with no casualty except for South with some heat exhaustion, and Carolina is waiting for him. His leader, his light, and now his tentative lover. (The label being tentative, not Carolina herself.)

Fresh from the shower, and the bruise on his neck is in full bloom. York knocks on her bedroom door and waits. Half a minute passes before Carolina lets him in with a weary smile in the corners of her eyes. She’s starting to get little wrinkles there and damn if he doesn’t think the way the crows feet last half a second after her face relaxes is adorable. Everything she does is charming, and in the wake of their developing relationship it’s further gilded in optimistic, sentimental gold.

“Any lasting damage?” he asks, watching her slowly lever herself to sit on her bed. They’d have met up sooner, but she had PT and debriefing while he helped their technicians get started encoding the data he’d collected. She shakes her head.

“No, just stress and tension and bad posture from the mission. I’ll be fine.”

“You look it,” York says wryly, kneeling on the bed beside her. “Still hurts?”

“Yeah. I got an adjustment for my spine, but--”

“Not a massage? I got you.” 

York sits behind her, drops a kiss on the back of her neck and watches her shiver. His own body reacts with a clench in his stomach, a tripling of his heart rate, and the myriad other responses to sudden arousal that D loves to rattle off whenever Carolina distracts him. Thank god he pulled the AI before coming tonight. 

He rests his hands on her shoulders and digs his thumbs into the muscles there - gentle, at first, careful not to bruise. They’re made of tough stuff, sure, but his hands have snapped a couple necks in his time, and he’s not here to hurt her. 

As he starts to work down to her shoulderblades, Carolina lets out a sigh and slumps forward.

“That good?” he asks, because he needs her approval like he needs to breathe, wants to hold her kindness in his chest and never let it out. 

“Of course it’s good. It’s you.” That does more to him than even the feeling of her skin under his, of her pliant and trusting in his hands.  And then she takes her shirt off, where she’s naked underneath, and his brain turns off for five solid seconds.

“Move over,” Carolina orders, one forearm held across her chest as she pushes him on the shoulder. “I’m gonna lay down.”

“Uh. Yeah, okay, great,” York stammers, moving aside to let her stretch out,  arms crossed under her head. There’s seldom been a sight more intimidating than her bare, scarred back, muscles sifting as she relaxes, the gentle curves of her spine from her shoulders to her hips and back up again. 

While she’s not looking, he drags a hand over his scarlet face. She can be so intense and he loves that about her, but sometimes it gets too much. She’s the sun, and being so close to her makes him burn.

“You fall asleep back there?” Carolina asks, her voice sluggish with exhaustion, and York clears his throat.

“I’m good,” he promises, easing himself to straddle her ass, careful to keep a bit of space between her body and his already hardening cock. This isn’t about him right now, it’s about her, how she works so hard she wears herself to bits. It’s about making her feel good.

If he happens to get off on the heat of her skin in the process, well, that’s just a perk of the job.

York used to give massages when he was a kid. He liked being useful, liked making his family members (and later teenage girls) feel relaxed and comfortable. Here, there’s a bit of tension between the narrow distance of their bodies here, a simmering want; it’s intimate in ways that the others weren’t, and he lets his fingertips graze her back before pushing the heels of his hands into the muscles of her shoulders.

Her spine cracks under his touch, and she moans. 

“Good?” he asks, voice rough - he clears it, tries to pull himself together as he leans forward on his knees, thighs tense with the effort of keeping him up and still. 

She hums underneath him, and he can feel it vibrate through her ribs. “It’s nice.”

“I tried to tell you, I’m good with my hands,” he says, working her tense muscles until they start to go pliant, inching his way down her back and up again. Try as he might, he can’t seem to keep his hands off her for long, and his knees are starting to slip to either side. His entire body aches to be closer to her, closer than this. 

Carolina groans again as he finds a knot below her left shoulder, and York tries to focus entirely on that spot. “There, right there,” she says, all breathless and needy and for fuck’s sake, he knows it won’t kill him to keep his mouth off her for another five minutes but he feels like he’s dying anyway. It’s torture, and he welcomes it with open arms, putting some of his weight behind his hands as he tries to work the knot out. 

Her next sound is a little pained. “Watch it.” 

He freezes. “Do-- do you want me to stop?”

“No. Just… more gentle, okay?”

“Sure. I can do that.” Refusing to think about it for more than a second, York drops his mouth to her back and kisses the spot. He’s close enough he hears her breath hitch, and he moves up to kiss an old bullet scar a few inches up.

“York,” she says, voice a warning and a promise all at once, and he pulls away.

“Back to work. Got it.”

He applies himself to the task with a little more distraction - never staying in one place for long, he kneads with his palms, rolls his knuckles, drums the sides of his hands up and down, up and down Carolina’s back. He’s losing some of his finesse, too busy trying to not think about fucking her, so her back arching and her hips grinding against his takes him totally by surprise.

York’s knees slide out from him entirely, and he drops his hands to either side of her on the mattress. She does it again and he echoes her movement, rolling his hips in time with her, panting against the back of her neck at the heat and softness of her ass against his cock. Even through all the layers of clothes, it’s easily one of the hottest things he’s ever felt. Beneath him, supine and exhausted, she is still in control.

Her shoulders twist as Carolina reaches blindly back, somehow grabbing a fistful of his hair. He’s glad to let her drag him down for a kiss, adjusting his body so he can rub against her in easy, fluid motions. 

“And here I thought your massage service was on the up and up,” Carolina taunts, as though she wasn’t the one to start it.

“Yeah, well, something’s up, as you can tell,” he mutters against her mouth - a joke that he’ll cringe over when replaying the scene later tonight - and barely breaks the kiss when she rolls over. Her legs fall open around his hips, like they’re not capable of crushing his ribcage between them, and when he resumes his grinding this time they both gasp.

He’s gonna come in his pants like a goddamn teenager but he can’t resist wrapping her legs around him and kissing her, deep and passionate, as he rocks against her. She’s in thin, elastic leggings that leave little to the imagination and he swears he can feel the damp of her arousal soaking through them. Or maybe she’s still wet from a shower, too. York pulls away to bury his nose in the nape of her neck, breathing deeply and finding the faintest hint of soap still clinging to her hair. God, he loves her.

“Wanna have sex?” he whispers, lips brushing her ear.

Carolina snorts. “Gee, I don’t know, I was only thinking about it for half the mission.”

York’s heart does a backflip in his chest. “Seriously?”

In answer, she reaches up and grabs the hem of his shirt, yanking upwards. York pulls back and takes it off the rest of the way, throwing the garment blindly to the side. He comes back down for an eager kiss, hands gravitating to Carolina’s hips; her hands join his and they ease her pants down together.

York follows the movement, trailing kisses down the valley of her chest, nuzzling her hipbone. He takes the elastic of her panties between his teeth for show, and lets it snap against her skin.

“Can I…?”

The way she threads her fingers through his hair is achingly tender. “Well, if you don't soon, I can always just lay here and fall asleep.”

“All right, all right,” he laughs into her skin and pulls the last article of clothing off. His heart is beating so hard he swears she can hear it, especially when he drags his mouth against the inside of her thigh. There’s scars there, too, like on every part of her body; silver and red reminders what their purpose is in the Project.

But for now, his purpose is here, in breathing over hot humid skin and slipping a finger inside of her. She’s already so wet he glides in, impossibly soft and strong at the same time. The sigh she gives is of pure contentment, and York bites his lip to distract himself from rutting against the mattress.

He’d do near anything for her, but this feels more like he’s taking than giving; he gets to see her like this, feel her inside and out in a way few others have, gets to hear the way her voice catches in her throat when his tongue strokes her clit. Her thighs flex, sliding up his shoulders just shy of closing on his head and falling open again as he repeats the motion, gently curling the digit inside of her and easing it back in again.

Her fingers tighten in his hair again, and York’s entire body jerks with the movement as she pulls. “More,” she demands, and he adds a second finger, redoubling his efforts with his tongue. Her body is starting to shake now, the relaxation from earlier replaced with a new, delicious tension, and with his free hand he tries to pull her hips even closer. He wants to give this to her, something good and sweet where she doesn't have to do a thing but accept it, accept him. His jaw is starting to hurt but York can’t seem to stop, fucking her on his fingers and sucking her clit; as driven as she is, to reach that end.

Carolina’s hand slips down and twines their fingers together, and the tenderness breaks him. York surges up to kiss her, one hand still thrusting inside of her, the other pinning her hand beside her head. 

“Enough, enough,” she pants, body bucking against his fingers; the juxtaposition between her words and her actions give him pause. “Get your pants off, I want all of you. I-- I need you.”

She keeps surprising him tonight; York eases his hand out of her with a wrenching twist in his chest, one that leaves him weak. “Anything for you,” he stumbles, rolling to the side in his haste to get his clothes off, nearly falling off the narrow bed. Carolina follows him, and it’s her turn to straddle him, red hair falling down her shoulders like liquid fire, eyes just as bright.

York will be the last man to complain about Carolina being in charge, and it goes the same for here, where she grinds against him just long enough to have him digging his fingers into the sheets before she takes him in. Unlike the first time, there’s no latex barrier between their skin; he can feel her, every delicate inch, and the sensation is so intense he has to clamp a hand over his mouth to hold back a moan.

“God,” he swears, “god damn you feel so good. Thought about you every night, too-- about this. About coming home to a bed, and you.” If he’s honest, he’s thought about this for months. (If he’s especially honest, years.)

Carolina rubs her thumbs along his ribs, shifting as she adjusts. It takes all he has to lie still and let her relax around him, and not roll his hips to bring himself even deeper. “You know what feels even better?” she asks, with a flash of teeth in her grin.

She starts to move on him, then, sliding up as easy as breathing and back down again. York catches her gaze and holds it, reaching up and twining their fingers again, offering leverage as she rides him. They forgot to turn the lights off, too, and watching her body take him in over and over, trembling as she picks up the pace, feels like too much. The light switch is in the same place in every room, so he dims it with still-damp fingers. In reward or retaliation, Carolina dips down for a brief kiss.

“I need you too,” he gasps, curling up to chase her mouth as she pulls away, trying to keep her rhythm. He can feel the effect it has on her, can feel her tighten around him, and maybe get more wet too. Fuck, she’s gonna kill him like this, and since he can’t kiss her he presses their conjoined hands to his chest, his neck. Can she feel the way his heart beats, only for her? Does she know he’d rip it out if she asked?

Carolina slumps forward, hair nearly brushing his chest, falling into his desperate kisses. Her movement is slowing down; exhaustion seems to be catching up with her so he coaxes her to roll over again, hand slipping down her waist to press her thigh against his hip.

“I love you,” and he kisses her, swallowing her gasp as he enters her again, slow and easy. “So much.”

York can feel the burn of his overworked muscles from a distance, as if in a dream; so caught up in Carolina under him, around him, moving in sync with him and wrapping her arms around the back of his neck. He ducks away from her kiss to nuzzle her jaw, the side of her neck, hiding his face as his eyes start to sting. It's too much and not enough; he can't quite escape the knowledge that this bliss is temporary, transient. They could have died-- they could die next week-- 

“York,” and she turns her head at the same time, capturing his mouth with hers, “it's okay. I've got you.”

“That's my line,” he manages, even as the motion of her hips steals his breath.

“Yeah, I know, tough guy.” Her fingernails scratch the back of his neck, rough and affectionate. “I've got you anyway.”

“Such a badass.”

He can feel his pace faltering, orgasm and emotion both building low in his stomach. York picks up his pace as Carolina slips a hand between them, giving herself that extra bit of stimulation that makes her breath seize in her throat. He drops to his elbows, shivering at the feel of her body pressed so close against his, and the next roll of his hips are slow and deep. Carolina moans, inches from his ear, and he keeps at it, aiming for that perfect angle to push her over the edge.

When he does, she claws at him, fingernails scraping along the healing stitches in his neck then down to his shoulders, electric points of pleasure-pain that make him jolt. Carolina’s back arches off the bed, tightening around him and her gasp is the last thing he hears before blissful oblivion takes him. York has just enough sense to pull out and spill all over her stomach, a few errant drops on his own from the sheer force of it, before he drops onto the mattress next to her.

His weight makes her bounce, rolls her a little closer to him, and York kisses the tip of her nose. Her eyes flutter open, still orgasm-dark, and he gives her a slow smile.

“Love you,” he says, aiming for playful; but his voice is too deep and honest to be carefree, and Carolina’s eyes soften.

“Love you too,” she sighs, and York pulls her a little closer. She makes a noise of disgust. “God, I just showered.”

“We could have another one together,” he offers, fighting to keep his eyes open. Every point of contact between them is intoxicating and warm, like sun baked stone. In response, Carolina elbows him; York rolls with the motion and stumbles to her bathroom, returning with a damp washrag.

To be contrary, once she's clean he tosses the wet rag across the room, distracting her by burying them both in blankets. This kiss is slow, relaxed, winding down rather than heating up, and Carolina’s eyes drift to the side when she pulls away. Her thumb is back on his neck, gentle over the massive bruise.

York covers her hand with his own and pulls her on top of him. “I told you I’d come back to you. I always will. I promise.”

She looks unconvinced, little frown slipping into something more sincere, afraid - he nips the tip of her nose.

“Come on, don't ruin the afterglow. I'm here. You, too. Let this be enough.”

Carolina bites him back, twice as hard, and the play-fighting almost leads into a second round before she falls asleep, days of tension on the mission catching up with her. York lays awake, long enough that when she rolls away he follows her, nose between her shoulder blades and one hand loose around her waist.

In the dark, she is his bastion, the last barrier between himself and the twisting dark of his nightmares where the knife that cut his neck goes a little bit deeper, the grenade that stole his eye hits a little bit harder, and all his stolen years are cut short. York takes in a deep breath and steels himself in the moment.

If nothing else - and the thought terrifies him, sickens him with its selfish fear - he knows she will outlive him. Carolina is a legend in the making, her sleeping form made to model monuments, and if he can be the summer flowers at her base then it will have to be enough. He will make it be enough.

“You’ll be fine,” he says in the darkness, and presses dry lips to the back of her neck.

 

 

 


End file.
